


One Wednesday Morning

by frangipane



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Food Porn, John is frustrated, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Pining, Sherlock probably knows more than he lets on, sweet tooth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 14:33:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6858892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frangipane/pseuds/frangipane





	One Wednesday Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isitandwonder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isitandwonder/gifts).



Sherlock has a sweet tooth. In particular, he has a weakness for condensed milk on hot buttered toast - ivory goodness that turns translucent on hot toast. He scarfs it down, trying to not to make a mess, but the milky syrup invariably runs down on his index finger and thumb.

John loves when Sherlock has condensed milk on toast - glimpses of Sherlock’s tongue sliding between thumb and index finger, darting out in between; Sherlock sucking at the sweet remnants with a dreamy expression on his face, eyes closed.

Sometimes, John looks up from his chair to point out a bit that Sherlock missed, still on his chin. As Sherlock looks on in mock irritation at him, John walks over and brushes his thumb over the pearly sticky stain, holding it up for Sherlock’s inspection afterwards.

And every time, John entertains the idea of pushing his thumb against those plush curved lips, and pressing his thumb into Sherlock’s mouth. 

On the mornings when Sherlock has toast with condensed milk, John has to shower twice. Sherlock never remarks on it though - though John wonders about what Sherlock knows as he desperately tries to keep quiet under the hot spray, biting down on his forearm, while bracing himself against the tiles.

And then there was that one Wednesday morning.

When Sherlock quirked his lips and walked over. He leaned forward, his eyes fixed on John, with an expression that John couldn’t quite decipher.

John’s breath hitched as the tip of Sherlock’s tongue brushed against the top of his thumb in a warm wet swirl. He had to struggle to not close his eyes as Sherlock slowly wrapped his lips around his thumb, and gave one slow deliberate pull.

Then Sherlock went right back to his preoccupation at the kitchen table.

John would have chalked up the entire incident to an over-vivid imagination, if not for the slight chill on his thumb setting his nerves aflame. His knees buckled slightly as he got out of his chair, and headed back for the shower.


End file.
